


of gods and monsters

by marsouttaspace



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Demigods, Demigods AU, M/M, Monsters, Slow Burn, Violence, camp halfblood au, keith and shiro as half brothers yeet, lance as son of poseidon, mature now because there will be violence and such cause im weak oops, might get explicit?? idk dont @ me, slow updates probably this is gonna b way too long, the percy jackson au that we deserve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 21:35:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16563566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsouttaspace/pseuds/marsouttaspace
Summary: When Shiro disappears without a trace, Keith has to make a decision whether or not to listen to him and stay hidden from the monsters or go find him. Naturally, Keith's never been very good at listening to Shiro. He finds a photo with the address 3.141 Farm Road, Montauk on the back. Seems as good a place as any to start.





	of gods and monsters

**Author's Note:**

> so just a disclaimer, i suck at writing and also i haven't read the series in so long so if minor details are wrong then sue me im not gonna reread the entire series eat me. allllsssooo this doesn't follow the plot of pjo, it's got it's own plot cause Yeet. and again, slow updates cause i'm the slowest writer ever plus im in college so things get busy and i dont really care. and i know i'm starting this when i haven't even finished my LAST but i promise i will eventually i just lost all muse for it so i ran away but i swear it will be finished SOMEDAY im not totally cruel. okay ENJOY i do respond to comments so if u got questions just ask!

His hand buried in his pocket grasps again at the crumpled photograph, ineffectively trying to find some comfort. Maybe if the photograph were actually him...nothing could really assuage him like Shiro did. Especially given their situation, danger inevitable and present in their every day, they were in a ceaseless game of cat and mouse. Demigods against the monsters. Fateful by design. It was only a matter of time before one of them finally got got, it was something they had prepared for since Keith had turned 13 and they came after him too. 

Shiro was expert at explaining to Keith exactly what to do if they ever got separated. Of course, now that it had actually happened, Keith found himself almost completely ignoring the plan they had set in place. _ Run and Hide _ . That was the basic premise. They had set up their own shelters around New York, places they rotated on a schedule so they weren’t in one place too long, anything so the monsters couldn’t keep the scent. His brother had told him to run and get to the next shelter as fast as possible and wait until he could get there too. If thirty-six hours passed and Shiro didn’t show up, Keith was supposed to continue on without him. 

He protested this when it was first suggested, furious at the idea he was supposed to leave his only family behind at the first sign of danger. But Shiro was nothing if not persistent, fighting with Keith about it until it had devolved into nothing but a fruitless yelling match. Eventually though, Keith agreed reluctantly. And he believed he would if the situation ever arose. Of course what he thinks he’ll do and what he actually does are usually two very different things. 

Thirty hours pass in their Rocky Point shelter with no word from Shiro. Anxiety beginning to boil the blood under his skin, a distinct burning feeling in his stomach, making him feel sick. He checks his watch again. Thirty hours and five minutes gone. Five hours and fifty-five minutes to go. He wasn’t a patient person. They were always on the go, not really the waiting type of people. Speed was futile if they wanted to survive, which made waiting for this long in an unsecured place go against everything he had been taught. 

His hand taps at his thigh, it’s reminiscent of a hyperactive tick. He finds trying to slow them only causes them to shake more. He lets out another sigh, seeing his breath in the air swirl around him before disappearing. The idea of leaving before thirty-six hours pops in his head again for the fifth time in thirty minutes. It becomes more and more beguiling as the seconds tick on, his watch making a distinct sound among the silence. Everything about this felt like insanity. He feels stupid for waiting as long as he has, what was he even waiting for? If Shiro was in danger then he needed Keith now, and Keith was locked away in a shack waiting for him to return when there is an outstanding likeliness that he’s already dead. And Keith is waiting for no one. And he’s alone. Again. 

Keith pulls the photo out of his pocket, looking it over, he pretends that looking at it again would give him something. Watching the smiling face of his half-brother, his hair black and no scar across his nose, he wears a bright orange shirt with words Keith could just barely make out at the angle in the photo. Camp Halfblood. The illusive place Shiro refused to mention to Keith. He had his arm around another boy, another thing Shiro didn’t talk about. His light hair and dark glasses contrasting Shiro. They looked a kind of happy Keith wasn’t sure he had ever experienced. It was young, innocent. Different from the Shiro that Keith knew now. Something happened, something Shiro was more keen to avoid than the monsters threatening their lives.

He had to do something. He had to. Shiro would have gone after him instantly, he wouldn’t have hidden away waiting for nothing. He had to do something. A surge of adrenaline hits, he accepts what he has to do. Firing up, he stands from his former position on the small metal bed to go to his backpack, hurrying to fill it with every weapon left over from previous times they had hidden there. Grabbing his wallet, the picture, the phone he never turned on and stuffing them all back in his pockets. He throws on the backpack, ignoring the rattling of metal inside. He takes the picture out one more time. Looking it over, solidifying his decision, justifying it to Shiro’s nagging voice in his head. He turns it. Eyeing the address written in dark black marker. 

3.141 Farm Road, Montauk.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

Keith is quick to realize that this place may be a lot harder to find than he had thought. After driving around the alleged address, he found nothing but a small forest, no entrances to drive in, no mailboxes, nothing. He wasn’t totally sure what he had even expected, the safe haven in his imagination was much more… existent? It was entirely possible that the camp Shiro had apparently gone too no longer existed. Maybe that was what he was so hesitant to speak about it. The place he once knew had fallen, and that’s why he never went back.

It didn’t matter, Keith had to see it for himself before he gave up on his only lead. He parks their car off the road a bit, hoping it didn’t look too conspicuous to those passing by, not that he was convinced many people came back this way. Grabbing his backpack from the passenger seat, he gets out, immediately missing the heat of his car when he’s blasted with frigid winter air. This place was anything but welcoming. The overall bad feeling Keith felt said something like  _ beware _ . But he persists, marching into the brush of the forest, he follows a small foot trail, looking like it hadn’t been walked on in years, plants beginning to grow over into the pathway, and there were no fresh footprints. 

Dusk followed him quickly after entering the forest, the darkness growing, replacing a purple sky with stars. They were so much brighter out here, away from any city lights that would snuff them out. They shined with a certain brilliance that Keith could appreciate, fondly remembering all the time Shiro had pointed out the constellations to him while they hid away. He knew them all to Keith’s surprise. Learning to appreciate something that seemed meaningless but beautiful nonetheless. 

He pulls his arms around him, tucking himself deeper into his parka, desperate for any semblance of warmth it could offer. Looking at his watch again, he wonders how long he’s been walking, shocked when his clock tells him it’s been almost forty-five minutes. That wasn’t right, it really couldn’t be. He had driven around the outside so many times and it was really a very small forest. Definitely not a forty-five-minute walk of a forest. He quickly looked around, wondering if he had somehow begun walking in circles, yet nothing looked familiar. Maybe it was the dark getting to him, usually unbothered by its presence, everything seemed warped within the trees. Things didn’t move the same. 

A part of Keith feels like maybe it’s time to turn around, to listen to the unsteady feeling in his stomach and retreat back to the car, find another lead to Shiro. He stops for a second of reflection, to consider the facts. The fact being that this forest was a dead end, likely protected by some kind of magic that Keith couldn’t see past. A magic that could be protecting nothing but the ruins of a place Shiro had once known. Ruins that would offer him nothing but more questions that his brother wasn’t around to answer.

He takes a deep breath, running his hands down his face and pushing his hair back. He’s frustrated, he still hadn’t slept, not since Shiro had disappeared about forty hours ago now. Questions racked a mind impaired, leaving him feeling useless, and even more prominently unsuccessful. Shiro was dead. He must be by now. Keith had failed him, not just by letting him disappear in the first place, but also going on to disobey his only order. And now he was sitting alone in the middle of nowhere, in a forest that never ended, looking for a place that probably didn’t exist anymore. 

He takes a seat against one of the trees, putting his face in his hands. They were colder than the air around him, but he felt like he deserved that. Rubbing his eyes, trying to keep back the frustration that was dangerously close to turning into tears. Dead end in an open space. Pathetic. Slumping back against the tree with a sigh, Keith opens his eyes to gaze upon his defeat again. This time when he looks out, instead of spatially aware trees and underbrush, he sees an entrance. More appropriately an entrance that leads to nothing. A large arch with lettering at the top, something in Greek that his mind quickly translates to the words, Camp Half-Blood. 

Keith scrambles to his feet, the sudden rush of adrenaline making him close to falling over. He finds his balance, eyes wide and glinting at the wooden arch above him. The only problem was that the arch led to absolutely nothing. Looking through it there was only the rest of the forest. It presented a camp, and what Keith was looking at definitely wasn’t the place. Slowly, he approaches, looking behind him quickly like maybe Shiro would be there. He still wasn’t. He was on this mission alone. The closer he gets the more the entrance seems to distort, Keith could only guess it was more magic. Likely another illusion of the forest. He nears until he’s only steps from walking through and he could just swear there was something glinting over from the other side. He could swear there was another side. So he steps through. 

It was definitely magic. Magic like Keith had never seen before because walking through the threshold opened up an entirely different place from the cold forest Keith had just been in. There was grass under his feet now, instead of the dry dead leaves just two steps ago. Looking back behind him, he could see clearly on the other side, the forest he had just come from. This was a portal, he was here, Camp Halfblood, and there was so much to see. 

He stood now on a hill, standing by the threshold he had just walked through and a tall pine tree that seemed to reach up into the sky. From here, he could see all the way across the horizon to the Long Island Sound. But that didn’t speak to the largeness of the camp, it seemed misplaced from the rest of the island, the sheer measure of land hidden behind a barrier. It was massive and seemingly lifeless, save the one area where light reached out from the trees and into the sky, the rest of the camp was growing darker as the sun left them for night. 

Keith tensed, the camp looked exactly like that, a camp. A place where demigods lived within the safe confines of a barrier. And Shiro had once lived here, before he had found Keith, making him wonder why he wasn’t brought here. It seemed a lot safer than the places they had been hiding for the last five years. A feeling of betrayal slowly sunk into his chest, his mind only gathering more and more questions the longer he looked out over the camp. 

It’s not until Keith spots life that he’s broken out of his rumination, close to where the light broke through the trees, he spotted a small group of boys walking towards it. On instinct, Keith ducks, nearing the pine to hide himself away, but just far enough out that he can still watch them. They’re laughing together, all three of them wearing those familiar orange shirts that read  _ Camp Halfblood _ .

Other demigods. Out in the open, laughing like nothing’s wrong like their entire existence isn’t a waking nightmare. 

Maybe for them, it isn’t. 

They finally walk far enough towards the light that Keith can’t see them anymore, so he follows. Tentatively walking out from behind the pine tree, down the hill, towards the light.

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

Keith learns very quickly that Camp Half-Blood doesn’t take kindly to strangers. He was standing behind another tree, mesmerized by the largest fire he had ever seen, only growing taller as the audience of orange-clad teenagers laughed harder at their performing peers. It was light-hearted and like nothing Keith had ever seen before, he watching in curiosity, in a quiet longing to have some sense of community like this. It’s not until the silver tip of a weapon is pressed to his neck that he’s broken out of his trance. 

“Turn around slowly or you can say goodbye to your head,” A voice from behind him commands calmly. Keith obeys, swallowing hard, immediately on the defensive, a thousand possibilities of how to get out of this situation running through his head as eyes finally meet. A woman about a foot taller than him holds a speer against his throat. She has the longest white hair he’s ever seen but is surely only around Shiro’s age. Her look is severe, even with the bright orange camp shirt, and the badly made beaded necklace around her neck, “Who are —”

Keith doesn’t let her finish before he’s grabbing hold of the spear and initiating a fight, she’s only stunned for a second before her own quick reflexes kick in and Keith has a worthy opponent. He drags the spearhead down while she tries to pull it from his hands, the sharp end becoming the only thing he can hold onto, he winces at the pain of the open gashes but continues to hold on. She seems amazed enough by his unwillingness to surrender, that Keith has the chance to pull down the spear far enough that he can stomp on it, breaking it into two pieces, he moves the spear end around so it’s pointed at her, quickly kicking her stomach so she’s on the ground and he has the advantage. And like that in less than a minute, he’s won. Adrenaline seeping into him, his own blood dripping down the tip onto the ground, her severe appearance replaced by fear, and he’s the one who’s made it that way.

It’s not until the blood stops ringing in his ears that he realizes he’s surrounded now. The demigods he had previously seen around the fire, were now raising their own weapons, seemingly daring him to hurt her, just so they can show him what violence they’re capable of. And Keith considers it, blood pumping so fast, a reckless voice in his mind telling him he can take them, his bleeding hands tighten around his half a spear, teeth grit, preparing for the attack—

“I would yield before you let them kill you, young man.” 

The voice is right. He knows it is. Yet every bone in his body is screaming at him to attack, to protect himself, to not let them hurt him. It’s what he’s always done. Protected himself without considering the consequences. Shiro knew he was a fighter, it’s why he trained him so well, trained him until he was better than himself, trained him till he won. He always wins. No matter the cost. 

His hands loosen their grip around the spear, coming out of his stance, he drops it. Finally realizing what he’s done to his hands.  _ No matter the cost _ .

The campers surrounding him still hold their weapons at the ready, it’s not until the same voice that had addressed them before commands them to ease up that they do, tentatively so. Keith sees the man, or rather half the man, half a man, and a horse…half. Centaur. Obviously their leader of some sort, a head full of orange hair and a groomed mustache to go with it. He watches Keith closely, critically. And Keith can only keep eye contact for a second before he has to look away, feeling his gaze pressing him down. There’s silence, and Keith is in the middle of it. He’s at their mercy now.

“Lance,” The Centaur beckons and a familiar brown haired boy steps forward, previously holding his weapon up at Keith. Keith recognizes him as one of the boys he had seen earlier, tall, bright blue eyes, brown disheveled hair, and a bright orange shirt. “Take our guest to the infirmary and clean up his hands.”

The command doesn’t just shock Keith, but the other demigods too. They break out in whispers that are predominantly complaints and confusion. Keith can’t say he feels any different, looking quixotically at the centaur, then at the girl he had fought who was now on her feet staring him down. She didn’t seem to protest like the others, but something was still cold about her, about her feelings toward him. Not that he didn’t deserve that.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Coran?” Lance protests, sure he doesn’t feel very fondly about him either. The other campers agree with him.

“I won’t be putting this to a vote, go get him cleaned up. I will join you soon.” Silence while he speaks then more whispers. He shares a stern look with the boy named Lance until he moves. Walking away from the group without another word. He’s a few yards away when he realizes Keith isn’t following him. 

“Are you coming or not?” It’s angry, like spitting fire at Keith for his violent entrance. What can he say? He’s always been one to make a good impression. 

A quick look back to the centaur at the group, they stare at him, some with curiosity and others with the same anger he sees in Lance. Without another word, he puts his head down and follows after the boy. 

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

They arrive at what seems to be the infirmary, neither sharing a word with the other, which is understandable seeing as Keith just almost murdered one of his campmates. It’s not until they enter the small building that he’s pushed harshly against a wall by the boy, so quickly his breath is punched out of him. The boy pushing against his throat with his arm, holding a dagger in the other. Keith puts a hand against his chest, his first attempt at trying to push him off but it’s futile. He knows he could try harder, probably get out of it given the strength of the boy, but he doesn’t move, he just watches. Maybe somewhere inside feeling guilty, feeling deserving of whatever happens.

“Coran might be soft on newcomers but I don’t give a shit where you’ve been. You hurt anyone here again, I’ll kill you myself.” Keith knew it was a valid threat, that Lance very well could kill him, he had a total advantage over him at the moment. The rage glowing off of him was real, Keith knew that kind of rage well. He knew what it could do.

Lance takes another moment to size him up before he releases his hold, letting his arms fall from Keith and the dagger return to its holster on his belt. Keith’s own hand falling from his chest, remembering his wound when blood is left behind on his t-shirt. He looks at his hands for the first time, the wound wide, and looking worse than they felt. The adrenaline must have staved off the unwanted pain. He had barely even felt it when it happened, but now they were stinging painfully. Lance having retreated, had apparently gone to get bandages. Keith had stopped paying attention until he spoke to him again.

“What’s your name?” He asks, slightly softer but still rather hostile. Keith responds quietly.

“Keith, I’m Lance. Take a seat,” He’s motioning to one of the sick beds, his hands now full of medical supplies, some of which looked rather daunting. Keith sits down regardless. Watching Lance’s movements as he sets the supplies down on the bed next to Keith and pulls up a stool for himself. He reaches for one of Keiths hands, pulling it closer to him. Keith winces.

“God, why did you do this to yourself?” Lance asks under his breath, seeming to actually wonder the answer when it feels obvious to Keith. To survive. Like always, like everything. All of it to survive. “Let’s wash off the blood.”

Lance stands again, walking over to a sink next to the wall and turning it on cold. Keith supposes he should follow. When they’re side by side again, Lance is taking hold of one of his hands again and pushing it under the stream of water. Keith can’t help but wince again. Lance seems to respond to this, looking to Keith’s face where his jaw is clenched shut and he stares at the bloody water falling off of his hand. He says nothing. They wash the next and return to the bed. 

They’re both silent as Lance tends to Keith’s wounds. Keith watches him carefully, still addled as to why this boy would be helping him when minutes ago he was being threatened. He’s so focused on his hands, clearly upset, but Keith can’t pinpoint why. 

“How did you know how to find this place?” Lance breaks the silence, still working away on the bandages. 

“I had an address.”

This catches Lance’s attention, finally lifting his head up from Keith’s hands to look him in the eye. 

“You found the camp off an address?” He seems in disbelief, brows furrowing, examining Keith’s face as if to check if he’s lying.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Who’d you get the address from?” 

Keith opens his mouth but doesn’t have a chance to answer before a sound at the door catches both of their attention. 

“Psssttt —Lance...” Two heads pop out around the door, looking in. Lance seems relieved upon seeing them, his shoulders dropping their tension. 

“What are you doing?” Lance asks as if he doesn’t already know. Before they answer they’re both quickly shuffling into the room and shutting the door behind them, failing to be surreptitious. 

“We wanted to see the guy who beat up, Allura,” Says the short one with large round glasses, glinting with mischief. The other one, much taller and rounder, with a yellow headband and grease smudges covering him practically from head to toe, nods to agree.

“He didn’t beat her up, he barely even touched her,” Lance scoffs, shouldering it off like it’s nothing when apparently it’s everything to the other two boys. 

“Do you know who your parent is because you got some seriously badass moves, man,” The big one continues on.

“I bet cleaning the stables he’s Ares’s kid.”

“I am not shaking on that bet, cause you’re definitely right.”

“Is that right, are you Ares’s son?” Says the short one again, finally waiting for him to answer.

“Uh…”

“He probably doesn’t even know yet, leave the guy alone,” Lance speaks up, turning back to Keith’s hands and continuing to wrap them. “You guys know Coran is coming back here soon,” That seems to get them going, scrambling to leave through the same door they came.

“Bye, Ares’s kid!” One of them shouts before the door is shut behind them. Lance doesn’t say anything.

“Who’s your parent?” Keith breaks the silence but it doesn’t get any less awkward between them. 

“Poseidon,” He responds nonchalantly.

“Is that the water one?” That gets his attention, stopping his tying off the bandage and looking up at Keith’s face. Maybe just to see if he’s joking.

“God of the Ocean.”

“Cool.”

“I’m his only half human kid.”

“Cool.”

“Kinda special.”

“Okay.”

Lance lets out something almost like a chuckle and finishes what he was doing. Keith’s hands were now properly bandaged. Tightly enough that they almost felt bound, affecting their mobility. That wouldn’t be good for fighting. 

“You’re welcome,” Lance grumbles before standing and cleaning up the supplies they had used. 

“Thank you—Really.” Keith had always had a tendency to sound sarcastic when he spoke, or at least disingenuous, usually he didn’t care, but this felt like one of those times where he really should. Lance doesn’t respond, but Keith knows he heard him. 

 

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

 

They wait together quietly until Coran shows up, Lance insistent that Keith won’t be left alone in fear he’ll try to murder someone again. They don’t speak for the few minutes they’re waiting, tension still heavy between them, not that Keith expected anything less. When Coran walks through the door, there is a visible sigh of relief from Lance, similar to when his friends had barged in. He didn’t want to be alone with Keith. Again, understandable. 

Coran watches Keith skeptically, sizing him up as he had before. Keith wonders what he had gone to do before coming here. 

“How are his hands?” He’s staring at Keith but speaking to Lance.

“They’ll heal,” Lance responds promptly.

“How did you find Camp Half-Blood?” Keith waits a moment before realizing the question is for him. His best way of answering is pulling out the crumpled picture in his pocket, the one he would never part with, and he hands it to Coran. 

“My brother went here a while ago, I had this picture of him…the address is on the back.”

“What’s your name?”

“Keith.”

“Your brother is Takashi Shirogane?”

“You know him?” 

“You’re right, he did go here about five years ago, then he disappeared on a quest. No one has seen him since.” 

“We’re talking about Shiro Shiro, right? Like The Shiro, Takashi Shirogane? The freaking legend? Mr. Badass Son of Hades?” Lance butts in. Keith doesn’t know anything about a legend. 

“Yes, he was the son of Hades. That’s what makes you brothers, I presume,” Coran takes his mustache between his fingers and twirls it methodically. 

“I-I didn’t know.” 

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No...He didn’t.” 

“So how were you sure you were brothers then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where have you two been all these years?”

They had been running. For five years they had done nothing but run, fight, and hide. 

“Do you know why he didn’t come back?” Coran persisted, but Keith had gone quiet. Because the answer to all his questions would surely be ‘I don’t know’. Keith now acutely aware of how little his brother had been telling him the entire time they had known each other. Aware of all the trust he had put into Shiro when none had been returned. And now Keith was here looking for him when it was completely possible that Shiro had just run away from him too.

Coran hands the picture back out to Keith, he doesn’t take it. He can’t. He doesn’t want to. 

“Where is Shiro now, Keith?” 

Keith feels betrayed, left for dead once again by someone who was supposed to love him. He felt the rising pain, close to his eyes, pushing it down, he speaks.

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you come here?”

“To find him.”


End file.
